When Heaven Does Not Hurt
by Moorea
Summary: Erik waits for death, but when Christine returns will he find something to live for?   Dark Erik/Christine *Raoul exists, but is not a big part* Please Review!
1. Chapter 1

1.

Erik was waiting to die. Christine had promised she would return after he died.

"She will be here soon," Erik whispered his mantra over and over, rolling the words on his dry, corpse tongue. "She will be here soon."

It had been a week since he had met with the Daroga at his little flat. Three days had passed since he had crawled silently into his coffin to await hell. _Erik is already in hell, _he thought wildly._ It is hell without Erik's Christine. _

The silence in the house by the lake was thick with Death, empty of the music that once ruled the darkness. Nothing existed in the cellars but Erik's home and the miles and miles of corpses left behind from the Commune. _And the rats, _Erik reminded himself._ How ironic, a corpse entombed in other corpses. _

He could not muster enough strength to laugh, so he opted to concentrate on every swell of his chest, hoping that it would be his last.

A sound colored the darkness for a moment, startling Erik.

_Perhaps a rat has found its way into Erik's home. The rat catcher will die. What if it is in Christine's room, among Christine's things? _The idea nearly sent Erik flying from his coffin before he realized that Christine would not care if it was among her things. She had never cared for Erik's gifts. She had pushed away the things Erik had spent hours perfecting for her. She refused to hear his wedding march, not caring that he had spent months working on it. He had not told her at the time, of course, but he had started it when he began being her angel. She had to be his. _But she is with her boy. _

Erik had sent the Daroga the things he had promised at their last meeting, but he could not bear to part with the letters he had stolen that had mentioned the angel of music with love or the veil she was to wear on their wedding day. It smelled of her.

Erik moaned, remember the moment Christine left him behind. She did not even look back at the man who was dying of love for her. Erik could feel the tears run unbidden down his cheeks. For a moment, he pretended that it was Christine's tears on his skeletal skin.

He heard the sound again; a shuffle approaching his coffin.

_Perhaps it is Death, come to free me from this tomb. _

The lid of the coffin began to move slightly and light shown through the crack. It was not a bright light; more of a soft glow, but with it accompanied the face of an angel.

"Christine?" he gasped.

The coffin shut again and with it came a muffled scream.

"Oh, angel. Forgive Erik for his face," Erik rasped. "He wishes he could be beautiful for you, angel."

A silence hung in the room before the coffin lid cracked open once more.

"My God! What have you done, Erik?" the angel cried.

"I waited for you, my Christine," Erik whimpered, the words burning in his famished mouth. "Erik always knew you would come back to him! Erik must be dead. But if he is dead, why is Christine before his eyes as an angel? Could Erik be..." He paused again before letting out a horrible, cackling laugh. "Imagine! A monster in heaven! Can you imagine, Christine?"

"Erik, you are not dead," the angel said.

Erik scoffed.

"If I am not dead how is it possible for you to be here, my Christine? You need not lie to me. I am aware that I must be dead."

Erik began to cough in his excitement, each hack sending him further into the haze.

"Heaven hurts, Christine," he whimpered, falling into unconsciousness.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I don't know how soon I will be updating, so no promises. Please review. Feel free to flame.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The first thing that came to Erik's attention as he woke was that he was not in his coffin.

The second was that he was in a silken robe and light, cotton clothing when he was certain he had been in his dress suit the night before.

The third, most important thing was that an angel was sitting in a chair beside the bed, her head burrowed into a novel. Her foot seemed to tap the rhythm of the words into the floor.

"Christine!" he rasped, the burning in his vocal cords strangling the sound of his surprise.

She looked up, her curls swinging slightly before her eyes. The moment she cast her eyes on his face she stood. Panicked, Erik seized her skirts with deft fingers.

"Do…not…leave…" he whimpered.

She unhooked his hands from her dress, patiently pressing them back onto his chest.

"Please. Erik would do…anything…if Christine would not leave him alone in the dark!" he said.

"I am not leaving, Erik, truly. You are ill and need care. I am going to the other room to fetch a glass of water for your poor voice. Would you like anything to eat?" she said. Erik shook his head violently. "All right. I will be back directly. If you need me, call out and I will return."

The sensation of her comforting hands on his arms put Erik in a daze.

"_Christine…_" he sighed and sank back against the mattress once more.

While Christine was out of the room, Erik came to know that he was in the Louis-Philippe room, in the bed that was once Christine's.

He was in Christine's bed and he had slept in it. He could almost imagine that Christine was in it with him, her living body warm against his cold one. Perhaps she would have a smile on her lips as she kissed his face…_No!_

_She left you! Stupid Erik only imagined that she came back. She is gone from Erik's life and is never coming back! _

"Christine!" he sobbed. He knew he had sunk into the depths of madness to believe that she had returned to him. With the burning thought that she was gone, he came to an abrupt realization.

He did not have anything to live for any longer.

Pushing himself off of Christine's bed, he made his way to the sewing kit he had given her. He dug inside, ignoring the prick of needles on his fingers as he searched for release from his agony. His fingers wrapped around the pair of scissors nestled at the bottom of the kit. He positioned them above his heart, bidding Christine a silent farewell before he intended to end his life.

"Erik, stop!" Christine caught his wrist and wrenched the scissors away from his fingers. She used all of her strength to push him backward onto the bed once more.

"I'm mad! Erik is mad! Christine is not real and when Erik wakes from this sweet, gentle dream Christine will be gone and Erik will die. He cannot live without his Christine,"

"Stop it! I'm right here and I am not leaving you. Stop struggling, please." She put her hands on her hip and sighed in frustration. "Erik, if you stop I will give you a kiss."

Erik froze. He didn't even breathe.

"Thank you," she cooed, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his cheek. Her lips were like fire on his cold skin, but he enjoyed the scalding heat.

For a moment he was in complete bliss. It was at the peak of this joy when the castles built and operas written on his elation came crashing down around him. She had kissed his cheek; his flesh. His bare flesh.

"Mask…!" he choked out before being consumed with the hacking cough once more. He flung his hands toward his face, his nails digging savagely into the skin that she touched. "Christine should not have kissed Erik's dead skin. She does not deserve such a punishment, even if she is only a ghost. A memory. Poor Christine!"

"Erik, calm down. I meant to kiss you!"

"Why did Christine take Erik's mask? Does she want to feast her eyes on the ugliness of Erik? Is that why, Christine?"

"Your mask was off before I saw you. You must have been hot when…I mean, your coffin is so hard to keep cool in."

Erik cried out in mortification and was pleased that his hands covered his face where tears had sprung into his eyes.

"Erik is so sorry. He should have endured the heat, even if there was only a slight chance that Christine might see."

"Erik, please!" she said, moving toward him hurriedly. When her hands touched his skin he pulled back as if burned. She followed him with her fingers, trying to calm him once again.

"Christine, why? For God's sake, why?" he cried.

She fell backwards into her seat exhausted by her efforts.

"It's this what you wanted? You asked me to return when you had…passed on. I saw an obituary in the _L'Epoque_. I thought…" she stopped.

"Christine only returned because she believed Erik was dead? Is that what my Christine wants? _A dead Erik?_ Oh, but foolish Christine, Erik is already dead! He is but an animated corpse." He moved toward her furiously, his yellow eyes burning wildly.

"Erik, you are frightening me!" she cried.

"Of course Christine is frightened! She has every right to be when she returns underground with the intent to bury a corpse and comes back to find it still living."

"No, you are frightening me with your anger. I am," she searched for the right words, "glad that you are alive. I would not want my angel to die."

Erik stared at her in shock before crackling laughter exploded from his chest.

"Oh Christine," he exclaimed between gasps. "Of course she would not like to see Erik's ugly head rotting away in the throes of death. Christine is too kind to Erik. He knows that she despises him. Go home, Christine. Back to your _boy_ where Erik cannot find you and hurt you."

"You have never hurt me," she said.

He grimaced and Christine could see every malfunction in the canvas of his face. She could make out each scar and could see all of the pain in his eyes as he looked down at his hands, now moved from where her hands had gently held them before.

"That is not the point, sweet Christine."

Something caught Erik's eye in the dim light of the room. She wore his ring on her left fourth finger, but the boys ring was nowhere in sight.

"Christine does not need to trouble herself with Erik's ring. She can replace it with the _boy's_. Erik will not be able to stop her."

"Raoul gave me no ring, Erik," she said.

He bolted upward, causing the tray of food in his lap to collapse over the side of the bed. The liquid of the soup creeped over the wood of the floor and met with the carpet. Erik paid it no heed.

"Christine will not be that boy's mistress! Erik will not allow Christine to be abused in such a horrible matter. Never! Say that it isn't true, Christine. Tell me that he will marry you and that you remain my pure Christine. "

Erik did not want her to be here if all she did was tell him that she had given herself to a fool who did not even have a right to her.

_If she is no longer pure, Erik will kill the boy! _

"Nothing like that!" Christine exclaimed, blushing a brilliant red. Erik relaxed slowly.

"Christine would not do that to her Erik. She would not torture him. She asked the boy to not yet give her a ring until her husband is dead."

A feeling of crushing hopelessness flooded his veins.

_She would be happy if I was dead._

He buried himself further into the pillows, immersing himself in the smell of her skin.

_Erik's Christine would never leave him, _he thought. _She is too good for Erik to look at with his monstrous eyes. Or to be with at all. _

He began to drift into slumber, his body beginning to wilt in the first stage of sleep.

"I am not going to marry Raoul," Christine said.

"Silly Christine, of course you will marry the boy," Erik mumbled, his mind not processing the seriousness of her words.

"Erik, I left him."

He was asleep.

So there is another Chapter. Chapter 3 is done as well, I will need time to type it up, however. Please Review and feel free to flame.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Erik was dreaming. He stood from Christine's bed and wandered into the hallway on wobbling legs.

_Christine._

She was in the kitchen, preparing some kind of stew. Her golden hair was tied up gently to the top of her lovely skull. He approached her silently, reaching for her with his horrible fingers. His thoughts drifted to the kisses she had given him, and to the ones she had allowed to give to her.

_It is merely a dream, Erik,_ he reminded himself. _Christine is with her viscount. She will never know. _

He snatched at her waist, pulling her flush against him. She cried out, jumping slightly in the air. Erik growled.

"Even in Erik's dreams Christine fears him. No matter how Erik adores Christine she still shuns him like the animal he is. Like he deserves. She will never love him, _**never**_! Oh, woe to Erik!"

He pushed her further against him, closing off all means of escape. Curls touched his face, smelling strongly of the flower sent that had once permeated her veil. The smell was much stronger than that of the veil which had clung to the soft fabric for only so long before it faded with time and the constant fondling of his dead fingers. "Oh, Christine," he sighed. Tears began to seep from his eyes, each one making a watery track along his sunken cheeks.

"Erik, I came back to you. Don't you remember?" Christine stuttered, her voice dipping between fear and indignation.

"That was a dream, just as this is a dream."

Erik's hand rose upwards, trying to make contact with the contour of her cheek. He shook wildly.

A bubble in the pot burst, flinging droplets of scalding water onto the exposed skin of Erik's hand. He tensed, realizing that pain could not be felt in dreams and that Christine was still entrapped in his arms.

"Erik is sorry!" he cried, throwing himself away from her with brutal force. "He is stupid. Erik did not mean to hurt his Christine… I mean… Christine. Not Erik's Christine. Never mind. He did not mean to harm her, it was just that Erik thought that he was in one of his dreams, and in Erik's dreams Christine welcomes his attentions."

Christine blushed wildly at his brazen comment. When he realized the weight of his words Erik dropped to his knees.

"Not that way. Erik would never, _ever_, do that to his Christine, even in sleep. He merely gives her gifts and he and Christine go on walks together in the moon light. Christine does not scream or cry at Erik's face. She kisses it! Right here," he rasped, pointing to his forehead where her lips had once graced his face and her tears had redeemed him. Erik glanced at her feverishly and saw that she look horrified. "Forgive Erik!"

"I forgive you," she said. He looked up at her through squinted yellow eyes. A smile graced her face, her eyes alight and the hair on her head like a golden halo.

He reached out to her, expecting only rejection, but he met with her arms. They wrapped gracefully around his shoulders, clutching his body to hers. The embrace shocked him to the core.

_Christine forgives me! She is touching me as if I were a real man. As if I was her friend. Oh, how Erik loves her! _

He sobbed for a while; his face buried hi her dress before she untangled his fingers from the fabric of her skirt and lifted his head between her palms.

"Come Erik, sit on the couch and I will make some tea," Christine said.

"Will you tell Erik why you came back, Christine?" he questioned, his eyes boring into hers. She sighed.

"Yes, Erik. Sit and I will tell you of the last two weeks and how I lived without my angel."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"Are you comfortable?" Christine asked, fussing over Erik's body as he sat buried in the sofa. She had found as many pillows as she could and had refilled his cup of tea more times then he cared to think of. "Do you need anything more?"

"No. I am fine. Please, continue your story, my dear," he said, shifting uncomfortably under all of the attention.

Christine sighed, causing Erik to only tense more, afraid of what her next, fateful words might be.

"Erik," she started, "do you remember when you told me about the bag of life and death?"

Erik closed his eyes against the memory, ashamed of his outburst and his irrational moments of anger following her attempt at suicide. He was beyond himself when he found her on the floor, wallowing in her own blood, so of course he would be irrational. It was just, humiliating that he, Erik, the magician of the Persian court and the Czar's favorite toy was incapable of keeping cool when the one he loved most needed him. And Christine did need him that night. He realized that now. The attempt on her life was not that she was seriously trying to steal herself away from him; she was just trying to make him see what he had done to her.

Mustering his courage, Erik nodded to Christine, his eyes low to the carpet.

"That bag frightened me, Erik. It invaded my dreams every night and destroyed my mind," she said.

Erik burst.

"No! No, no, no, Christine, my angel, forgive me. I know that my little bag is bad. Erik can destroy it. He can, for you Christine. Just tell Erik that you are not broken. Tell him that he did not destroy you like everything else that he loves. Please!"

"Hush. You did not destroy me. It was my guilt, you see. In my dreams, you were in the bag, Erik, and I couldn't find it anywhere. I was searching and searching until I finally found something like it. I would cry, holding the bag in my hands, like this." The young woman took Erik's hands in her own and held them against her bosom, causing Erik to blush brightly. "I would cry, 'My love, I have found you!' and I would hear your voice call back, 'Christine, you lie!'"

Her lips quivered a bit, drawing his attention to them. They were lovely, even as they trembled.

"Then the bag opened and out sprang a scorpion; a horrible, demon creature. It was so ugly, Erik! But it didn't hurt me. It was the grasshopper. It was green like summer leaves but its face. Oh God, Erik, his face. Raoul's face peered at me with buggy eyes and wrapped his claw like talons around me. Then he exploded! I would look in the mirror see your eyes staring back at me. You were calling me, but each moment you got farther and farther away. When I woke, I could only cry."

"It was just a silly dream, Christine," he said.

"No, Erik. It was the truth. I betrayed you by choosing the scorpion and then leaving you behind. I should have stayed, like a good wife would have."

"Christine is the perfect wife, and so she of course needs a perfect husband. Erik is not him. I am not him!"

She squeezed his hand. Never breaking eye contact, she brought her hand upwards towards her lips. When the velvet skin touched his hand he jerked away, his torso shaking.

"What..?"

"I want to stay with you, Erik. I want to take care of you."

She paused, breathing in deeply.

"I want to be your wife."


	5. Chapter 5

Author Notes; Thanks so much for all of the wonderful reviews that everyone has left. I know that I am a horrible person, and this is long overdue, but I swear I will not abandon it. My life is just crazy right now. I am playing Carlotta in my high school's version of The Phantom of the Opera (Andrew Lloyd Webber), and my novel is still being edited, so I'm sorry. Once my life dies down a bit, I can write more fun stuff, like this.

Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux, unfortunately. (for me)

5.

Erik let out a wail akin to that of a dying beast, burying his face in the covers.

"I knew that you were not real. That you were one of Erik's hallucinations! How could Christine ever choose to marry Erik when she has her handsome boy who does not do the naughty things that Erik does?"

"I want to be your wife," she repeated. Her tone left no room for argument, but Erik carried on.

"He will not allow it. Even if Erik could keep you, you would never see the outside world again. You would be stuck here, in a tomb with Erik forever! I know that my Christine would not want that. She loves to see the sky and the flowers."

"The last time I stayed in your home, we went out for a walk along the Seine? Do you remember? You were so kind then, and the air certainly did you good."

He collapsed into her shoulder, tears forming in his eyes before mumbling in what he considered a pathetic whisper, "You will stay? Truly? Christine will stay as Erik's living wife?"

"Yes."

"Please hold still. There is an abundance of soot on your face from God knows what and I intend to take it off," Christine chastised lightly as she opened her hands in front of him, anxious for his mask. The moment that Erik had recovered from his shock at her agreement to be his wife he had retrieved his mask and set about attending to her every need despite the fact that he was the one who was ill.

"Christine does not need to see what lies beneath Erik's mask again. Is your feminine curiosity so very intense that it feels the need to pry into things that you already know?"

She huffed, her eyes narrowing as they scanned over him.

"You will take off your mask and let me wash away dirt or I will not eat supper."

"Christine must eat her supper, otherwise she will be unhappy, and I do not like it when Christine is unhappy."

"Then you must take off your mask."

"Why do you always make Erik uncomfortable?" he growled, but reached for the ties of his mask. If she screamed, he knew that he would explode in anger, attacking her like a savage beast and holding her captive for all eternity. He watched her as the black covering was pulled from his face, revealing the atrocity beneath. She did not blink, she merely smiled softly, tucking an unruly hair behind his ear.

"Now we can eat as a proper couple," she said. He gaped at her. Ignoring his expression of utter disbelief, she scoped a bit of soup up from the bowl and held it in front of his twisted lips. "Open up."

The food she made was tasteless, just as it always was, but as Erik chewed, a sweet flavor flitted over his mouth. She was so perfect, in every way, that even his deformity was forced to bend to her will. She smiled at him anxiously, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.

"Do you like it?" she asked. He nodded slowly, carefully keeping his deformed lips pressed together tightly so that nothing would spill down his face. He was hideous enough without liquid dribbling down his chin. "I will have to make more things like this for you when we are married. For our wedding breakfast, I will make everything that you like. Just for you and I. We will eat it together, man and wife. How does that sound, Erik?" His answer was a soft sigh and a slight tilting of his head towards her.

"We should marry as soon as possible," Christine continued. "I do not know how to go about getting a wedding contract. Do you think that you could handle that aspect, Erik?"

For a moment, Erik was entirely dumbstruck. It was mad enough that Christine wished to stay with him, but to marry him? In a church? In plain view for anyone to watch, including her God.

"I could-" he stammered.

Christine graced him with a wide smile. His hands clenched involuntarily and he had a hard time swallowing.

"Do you still have the wedding dress in the back of my closet?" she questioned eagerly. He must have confirmed that, yes, it was there, although he was sure that he did not do it fluently, because she was off, in search of that delicate silk and lace gown that he himself had sewn to fit her body perfectly. In his darkest hours, he had thought to set it on fire, allowing all thought of its intended wearer to go up in flames with it, but when he lit the hearth the image of Christine, cast amongst the flames sent him into a fury.

"Oh, Erik. There is a stain," he heard Christine's sweet voice say. He jerked up, his eyes frantic, before he fell a Christine's feet.

"Forgive Erik. He was angry and may have hurt the dress, but he can make it better for you! He

can fix it. I am a very skilled magician and can make anything disappear. Anything but my face. That is the mask's job."

"Stand up, please. There is no reason to be upset. It is just a small stain, nothing to worry about. I can clean it."

"No, I will do it," he said, then jerked the dress from her hands. He quickly found his way to the small laundry room. The wash bin was cold, and the soap that he had always kept by a small towel was cracked and hard from disuse. He quickly scrubbed out the small, clear stain. It was likely from a tear, and this embarrassed him more than any blood or coffee stain ever would have.

"Here," he said, giving her the dress back with an air of indifference. Christine smiled again.

"Thank you. I will be right back, alright?" Without waiting for him to answer, she was gone, dashed off back to the Louis Philippe room.

Erik stood, his long legs aching with disuse. He needed to leave. To walk in the fresh air. He could not recall just how long he hand been below, but from the layer of dust forming on the remnants of his organ and on the dinning room table, it had to have been almost a month.

The door cracked open, and a beam of light emerged from within the Louis Philippe room. He did not turn, knowing that Christine would soon be at his side, still babbling about a wedding.

"Erik?" she said, her tone questioning. He looked at her then, reluctantly.

The sight of her, in the white gown he himself had sewn together in his darkest hours of obsessed dreaming, was enough to drive him mad.

He hoped that she did not secretly wish to return to the upper world, because he would never, ever let her go.


End file.
